


All My Stumbling Phrases

by FoxglovePrincess



Series: Your Heart Is The Only Place That I Call Home [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Biting, Cunnilingus, Deaf Clint Barton, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, Marking, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Scenting, Sex, Smut, Touch Deprivation - Disease, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxglovePrincess/pseuds/FoxglovePrincess
Summary: If it hadn’t been Steve and Bucky, it would have been Natasha and Clint.*written in first person with no name assigned, only pet names (kotenok, honey, and a few others). minimal description of reader/narrator appearance, including that reader has female anatomy/pronouns.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Reader, Clint Barton/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Jane Foster/Sif/Thor, Natasha Romanov/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: Your Heart Is The Only Place That I Call Home [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923169
Comments: 20
Kudos: 202





	All My Stumbling Phrases

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this AU of my AU! It’s one of the longer entries to the series. 
> 
> So, just to be clear, this is a remix of You Left Me in the Dark. There’s some sampling from that story (since it’s the same storyline with different main characters) especially in the beginning parts at the bar, but the samples are small and mostly re-written to give light to the details pertinent to this storyline. 
> 
> This can be read separately if you have no interest in reading the other installments in the series.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. This is my first time writing two females together intimately, so be gentle. But I would love to hear feedback!
> 
> If I’m missing any tags, let me know (I tried to get everything, but no one’s perfect).
> 
> UnBeta’d, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title taken from “All This And Heaven Too” by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> This work is not to be reposted on any other site without my explicit permission.

It’s happening again. My friends sit around the table, sharing stories and laughing. The live music thrums through the bar, creating a lovely soundtrack for the evening. The scents of the patrons swirl around, filling up the space with an atmosphere of merriment and gaiety.

Hanging out at the bar—The Tower—on Friday night is our tradition. We spend the week working at our jobs before coming together and catching up while getting _just_ drunk enough to block out the more annoying events of the week. Only two of our group are missing at this point in the evening, but their tardiness is practically a tradition, too.

The atmosphere is familiar and warm, but I’m struggling to enjoy myself, my heart thumping so loud in my ears, the beat grating on my nerves. Pain radiates through my pores and an energetic buzz, like an electric shock, plucks at my skin, zipping agony all over. My body aches to fidget and shuffle, to try to ease the unpleasant sensations, but I suppress the urge.

Clint sits, regaling us with a story from his interaction today with HR, something involving a stapler, donut, and copy machine. I chuckle along with everyone else at the correct intervals, but cannot force myself to focus on details. Instead, I’m lost in thought—echoes of my doctor’s voice distracting me.

_It’s called touch deprivation. It’s fatal for 1 in 5 omegas._

A quiet sigh blows through my nose, a deep breath released as inconspicuously as I can. My fingers twitch at my side, itching to scratch my skin bloody until I find the source of the pain. My eyes drift over the occupants of our table, falling on Natasha, her ruby red lips quirked in a fond smile as she watches her beta tell his story. Her eyes flick toward mine, a question in her emerald irises. My gaze darts away, heat creeping up my cheeks as I feel the weight of her stare. My eyes flit to Tony, then Thor, before dropping to my hands, resting in my lap.

_You need human contact—alphas are best, but betas can help too. Find someone you trust, or visit the local heat clinic. It isn’t too late to recover yet, but it will be soon._

My body leans closer to Wanda, unconsciously seeking comfort from my omega friend. Her nose twitches as she turns her attention to me, a baffled expression on her face as she shifts closer.

“Are you alright? You smell different,” she asks. Her accent lilts over every syllable as I fidget a moment in my seat and shrug my shoulders. Voice low, she offers, “If you’re going into heat, I have emergency suppressant pills in my purse.”

My head shakes as a strained grin stretches my lips. My lungs pull in a deep drag of air and I release it slowly, hoping to calm myself as I feel the spiral beginning. My hands clench in the fabric of my skirt, searching through my brain for a suitable answer. Wanda keeps her attention focused, unrelenting.

“And then she said she’d never seen one shaped like that before. Asked if I needed to see a doctor,” Clint finishes with a swig of his beer, eyes flashing toward me with curiosity as he does—damn observant beta.

Like a spotlight shining on my figure, I shrink, but not quick enough. There’s too much attention on me already, and even as some of the others laugh, three sets of eyes catch my involuntary flinch at the mention of a doctor.

Natasha strikes first, asking, “Speaking of, how was your appointment today?” Her cool green eyes bore into me with intensity and I feel like a rabbit caught in a snare. With any other friend, like Wanda, my best bet would be to lie. But not to Natasha. Oh, no, I could never get anything past her—and isn’t that just _infuriating_.

I gulp and clear my throat, feel my heartbeat speeding as instincts engage, adrenaline pumping and intensifying the stinging burn under my skin. “It was enlightening, I suppose,” I reply, a hitch in my response that she surely catches.

I turn to Clint—the only one who could possibly distract her—eyes pleading for leniency. But he offers no mercy, eyes just as suspicious as his mate’s.

“Enlightening,” she echoes, her tone dull and displeased.

Though conversation still permeates the air around us, everyone at our table falls quiet. No one is willing to step between Natasha and her target—rather, me—and I don’t blame them. She can be intimidating in the most spine-tingling way.

She likes to know everything about her friends—absolutely _everything_. It’s how she shows she cares. And I love that about her, and that’s part of the problem.

I can’t tell her—or any of them—I’m touch deprived. Especially since I haven’t figured out how I’m going to fix it—or if I’m even willing.

And Natasha has a way about her, when she finds a problem, she traces it back to the very root until she can fix it like it never existed—burn it down and salt the earth. Especially when it comes to the omegas in the group, she’ll tear down empires for us. A powerful force to be reckoned with. So I can’t tell her she’s failed to take care of me. Because if I explain, that’s exactly what she’ll hear.

It would be hard enough to explain how I find myself in this situation—orchestrating the distance between my friends and I like a classical symphony. The last person I hugged was Wanda, during her heat six months ago, when it hit her hard and she begged to cuddle. I didn’t initiate it—hell, I tried to help her through without it. But I caved quickly when she confronted me with her most desperate, pleading expression. She’d met her alpha extraordinaire, Viz, a week after it passed, though. So that was the end of her needing me. And no one’s needed me since.

My own heats are another matter, I soldier through them with air conditioning blasting on high, box sets of murder mysteries to distract me, my nesting blankets shoved into a corner of my apartment, and sheer determination to ignore the fuck out of it. It’s not great—in fact, it sucks ass.

Yet, every time it starts to be just on the painful side of too much, Clint somehow magically knows, and will call me up right as I’m about to break. He’ll talk me down and ramble about the cute dogs he met at the park and Natasha’s latest headache from her boss and all sorts of nonsense. He’s a godsend—and good God, the sound of his voice _does_ things to me, especially when I’m in heat. But I don’t ask for more—I can’t make myself a burden.

And there are always the heat clinics. Even though I can’t seem to make myself go, they’re clean, healthy, and have great heat plans. It just feels wrong to shop for an alpha partner—especially since I’ve been pining after a mated pair for years, and, in my fucked up brain, letting anyone else near me is akin to cheating. That tends to put a damper on things.

I won’t turn to my alpha friends now, despite this new development throwing a wrench into my life. It’s poor manners to impede upon someone else’s committed relationships, and I won’t become an imposition on their daily lives. That’s not who I am. Tony has Bruce and Pepper—his omega and beta—their completed pack absolutely the ultimate relationship goal, and not looking to take in any strays. Thor, though not bonded and dripping in delicious honey-gold muscles, has an arrangement with Sif and Jane, two omegas who absolutely adore him and are willing to share the bounty of his affection. There’s my friend, Steve, my ultimate protector since Kindergarten. He and his beta, Bucky, are bonded and completely in love. They watch out for me like older brothers—the Hallmark movie version, the heartwarming kind. I love them just the same, but I won’t barge into their lives and bother them with this mess I’ve created. And Natasha has Clint, her beta. The two of them are solid, like a fortress. And they’re not interested—they don’t look at omegas, even when it’s obvious they’re being propositioned. Not even for one night. Not even when I—no, I _won’t_ think about it, save myself the heartache.

So it’s no great wonder that I’ve found myself in this position. I cultivate distance like a garden of toxic weeds surrounding me, making sure no one ever gets too close. My personal space stays personal. It’s easy, one well-placed flinch or a swift shuffle away from open arms. Pretty quickly, people stop offering. Thor, the master of all bear hugs, hasn’t even attempted an embrace in I don’t know how long. It’s exactly what I’ve aimed for and not at all what I want.

Because I’m an omega—but more aptly labeled as the world’s clingiest omega. I melt into warm embraces, and will stay there until someone pries me away with the jaws of life. My body aches every second of every goddamn day to be pinned and crushed and embraced and pampered. I thrive in environments of protection and comfort—like a sunflower in direct light. And no one has ever really noticed how miserable I am—all my fault, but also really sucky.

My mind snaps back to the conversation as Natasha clears her throat. Her eyes stare, accusatory, as I prolong the silence. My teeth worry my lower lip. I can’t— I refuse to tell her and break her heart. My body pushes away from the table, standing abruptly.

“Anyone need another round?” I ask, voice pitched slightly too high. My eyes scan the faces of my friends, while ignoring Natasha’s incensed glare.

Thor raises his empty pint and Tony rattles the ice in his empty tumbler. Bruce shakes his head with a smile and polite ‘no thank you.’ Wanda asks for another manhattan and Clint asks for a surprise.

Natasha remains silent and my omega whines in the back of my mind—God, I _hate_ disrespecting her. My neck tilts as I turn away, giving in to the instinct to bare my throat. I force my feet toward the bar even as a heated debate rages in my head and my skin feels seconds away from splitting over my muscles.

My nails dig into the dark wood of the bar-top, keeping myself standing as I wait to deliver the order. Bobbi, the bartender and another friend, saunters over, resting her hands on her hips. My face contorts into something intending to be a smile, but probably misses the mark.

“Alright, what’s happened?” she asks, grabbing bottles after I rattle off the names of the people who need a refill—it’s the best part of being a regular at a bar and ordering the same thing every time. She works like a machine as she automatically pulls what she needs from the station around her.

“I’m avoiding Natasha,” I mumble, picking at the veneer on the bar.

“Piss her off?” Bobbi begins shaking a drink, the rattle of the ice echoing around us.

My eyes scan over the crowd, landing on the band making it’s way off the stage until their next set. Shoulders bobbing in a shrug, I peek over at the silent woman, waiting for her judgement.

She places a tray in front of me, lining up Wanda’s cocktail and Clint’s shaken piña colada before pouring Tony his two fingers and drafting Thor’s beer. She adds another glass to the tray, plopping a maraschino cherry garnish on top.

“All your refills, plus one dirty Shirley Temple for you on the house,” she explains as she leans against the bar. My mouth opens to protest, but she reaches out, tugging gently on a strand of my hair. “Look, I know how much you hate upsetting Nat,” she murmurs conspiratorially. I sigh and glance back to Natasha, whose gaze still falls heavy on my shoulders, a glare squinting the corners of her eyes. “Just take it.” She turns away with a flirty smile after reassuring me the other drinks are added to my tab.

I grab the tray and shuffle back to my friends, passing around drinks. They mutter their thanks. Clint gives an excited whoop as he grabs his glass, a bright smile on his face—the adorable dork. I avert my eyes, biting back a far too affectionate smile. My eyes lock with Natasha and my lips part—and I know, I just _know_ , I’m gonna bare my throat and spill my guts about everything.

Eyes darting for an escape, fingers gripping the tray so tight the plastic creaks, my eyes land on my drink. Plucking the cherry garnish on top, I shove it into my mouth, twirling the fruit over my tongue and forcing myself to focus on the flavor and texture. My tongue rolls it around with my mouth watering as my feet about-face, intent on returning the tray back to Bobbi—any excuse to get away.

It clatters on the bar and I take a moment, breathing deeply and chewing the cherry, obliterating it in my mouth. I swallow it and my fear as I turn back to the table, hoping Nat will let the subject drop—yeah, _right_.

My eyes glance at Bobbi, who stands a few feet away, shaking a drink and flirting her head off for tips. She winks in my direction and I send her a disheartened grin in return.

My feet turn, take two steps back to the table, and stop. A hand grabs my wrist, halting my movement and keeping me in place. The scent of freshly mown grass and scorching summer sun assaults my nose. I try—I really do—not to let my disgust show on my face. I inhale a shaky breath, pulse thumping in my head, as I turn to the alpha beside me.

He sits, hunched forward, a slimy grin on his lips. I shift on my feet, desperate to create space between us, his scent utterly repulsive. The buzz on my skin crescendoes, painfully vibrating down to my bones, the longer he holds me.

My brows drop to a grimace as I ask, “Can I help you?” Drawing on years of observing Natasha, I call on every ounce of intimidation I can muster, hoping it’s enough to have this man let me go.

“Yeah, name’s Jack. You can sit next to me and keep me company,” he says with a leer raking up and down my body. “If you’re lucky, I’ll even keep you.”

Bile rises in my throat as a sneer twitches my lip. I keep it at bay, unwilling to let this situation escalate past something I can handle myself. Repressing a shudder and pulling on my hand, his hold only tightens on my wrist. My jaw clenches as quiet anger seethes through me.

Glancing toward my friends at the table, Natasha stands from her seat and Thor’s eyes lock onto the scene, the beginnings of a snarl distorting his lips. His mouth moves, muttering something to the others. Tony and Natasha nod in agreement. The female alpha takes a step away from the table, murder clear in her eyes.

My mind races as I calculate the best way to get this creep to release my hand, with the least amount of bloodshed. And then it hits me. The scent of leather and rain. Tension leaks out of my body as I feel one of my protectors at my back. Turning my face to my rescuer, I see the cold glare on Bucky’s face.

“Someone needs to remind you to keep your grimy hands to yourself,” he growls, low and threatening.

His body swerves around mine, cutting between Jack and I, separating the alpha’s hold from me. A gleeful smile spreads over my lips. Jack looks positively ready to piss his pants. Bucky may be a beta, but he sure is one menacing motherfucker.

“Go on back to the table, doll,” the beta instructs as he turns to me over his shoulder, an easy smile twitching the corners of his lips. “I just need to take out the garbage.”

My mouth opens to respond when movement catches my attention from the corner of my eye. I turn to see Clint sauntering over with his relaxed gait, his hands shoved in his pocket and something dark glinting in his eyes.

“Hey, Bucky” he greets as he approaches. His hand lands on the alpha’s shoulder, a strong grip that makes Jack’s posture buckle slightly. “You just got here. Let me handle it.”

My two friends exchange glances. A minute passes. And then Bucky nods. He gestures for me to return to the table and I do, checking back over my shoulder as Clint drags the alpha out of the bar—and isn’t that just a sight to behold. Wonder if he’d manhandle me— _no_ , stop.

Bucky watches the scene with a glare until the door closes behind them. He turns to Bobbi, probably ordering a drink for himself and for his mate. And I focus back on our table.

“Are you alright?” Bucky’s mate in question asks as I approach. He’s standing by a chair, pulled out for him to sit—we never could fit our group into the whole booth, two of us always end up sitting on the most rickety chairs known to man.

I nod, noticing a small twitch of Steve’s nose as I do. Shit, he better not say anything. My eyes glance over to Natasha, seated once more and calmly observing us—I just hope she hasn’t realized that Steve might be an ally in her quest to pry—because the little shit would _totally_ help her without a second thought.

“Good,” he replies, with a definitive nod. Bucky comes over with beers in hand, wrapping an arm around his alpha’s waist. They exchange a quick kiss and turn to the table.

Bucky slides his way into the booth beside Wanda, stealing my spot. A noise of indignation—a muffled shriek of irritation, really—reverberates in my throat as I glare at his audacity.

“Bucky, you stole my seat,” I huff, hands landing on my hips.

He chuckles, sinking into the vinyl and throwing his arms over the back. “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

“My drink is literally right there.” My eyes look to Steve, but he just shrugs, used to the teasing antics of his own mate—so much for Hallmark perfect older brothers, these jerks are the _worst_.

“There’s a seat right there,” Steve gestures with his bottle over to the spot next to Natasha—Clint’s spot.

I glower at my oldest friend, “That’s Clint’s seat. And I’m not an uncouth monster.” Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I plop into the rickety chair and scoot it toward the table. Bucky pushes over my glass and I lose the fight keeping a pout from settling on my lips.

“Okay, who upset the cutie?” Clint asks from behind me. His strong hands land on my shoulders and I flinch, an automatic response. He releases me like I’ve burned him—but Christ, is that the opposite of what I want. He simply slides back into the booth beside his mate and wraps his arm around her. “So who’s gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Bucky stole my seat next to Wanda,” I mutter, disgruntled.

“Dude,” he intones with a gesture toward the other beta. Bucky flips him off in response and Steve smacks the back of his beta’s head. Nat sits quietly beside her mate, shifting her focus between all of us with an unreadable expression on her face.

Tony chuckles into his drink, shoulders shaking. I roll my eyes—glad we could be so entertaining for the rest of our friends.

“So what’s everyone been up to?” Steve asks, gesturing to our quiet friends.

Thor begins boasting about his plans with his brother Loki for the weekend, some quest for glory—basically they’re going on an adventure, hiking and zip lining and the like. The conversation moves on to weekend plans, exclamations of excitement or jealousy overtaking most of the conversation.

Sitting in my seat, leaning away from the table, Steve’s warmth radiates to my side as he scoots closer. I shy away slightly, adding just a sliver of distance between us.

“What did the doctor say today?” he asks quietly. A grimace overtakes my face as my eyes scan over our table of friends.

Of course, he would ask—he practically set up the appointment for me, insisting that I see someone about feeling under the weather lately. I definitely don’t want to tell him about the results. He’s a mother hen when I get the sniffles. I don’t want to imagine what he’ll do if he finds out my diagnosis.

My eyes flick over toward Natasha and Clint, their stares blank as they listen to Bruce and Thor discussing the best lookout points on the closest trails. But I know them, they’re listening to us, eavesdropping to gather information—like little spies. My teeth gnaw over my lip as they continue to ‘ignore’ our side conversation—but I’m not thinking about them, no, nope, not at all.

_If you have someone in mind, a relationship you’re pursing or a close bond with someone, they would be the best candidate to help you overcome this as quickly as possible._

“It’s nothing,” I insist with a firm shake of my head. “Don’t worry about it.” My trembling hand reaches out for a quick, stiff pat on his knee as I stand from my seat. I excuse myself from the table and head back to the bathroom.

I find myself blissfully alone, able to stand before the mirror, hands gripping the lip of the sink and supporting myself as my eyes scan over my face. At least I don’t _look_ any different. The lights flicker overhead, splashing against the red walls—and oh God, are the walls moving?

I sigh, turning on the faucet, rubbing the cool water over my wrist glands. It’s too much, I should have known better, stayed home. First, Wanda notices my scent is off, then Natasha starts with her silent, and not-so-silent, interrogation. And now Steve and Bucky will be on my tail. My fingers card through my hair, a muffled groan of frustration stuck in my throat.

I have to leave. Get out of here early, make up an excuse and split. And then, plan out the rest from there. Scent blockers, for sure. Probably some other stuff too, I’ll have to research touch deprivation to figure out exactly what. What symptoms are most likely to pop up, the window of how long I’ll have. And then I’ll have to think of more excuses, to evade my friends as it progresses.

Bending at the waist, I cradle my head in my hands, supporting myself on the counter as my body begs to hopelessly collapse on the dirty floor. Nope, I’m not that low, yet—no dirty bathroom floor for me, thanks. But I do realize that I’ll need to figure all of this out, because there’s only two people in this world that I will allow to help me. And, like I said, they’re not interested, and I _won’t_ force them through some sense of pity on their part.

I mean, Clint and Natasha have been together since college, meeting one day when Clint decided to strike up a conversation about upcoming events on campus while I was waiting for the alpha to show up for lunch. They instantly connected that afternoon, and not even a week passed before he was proudly wearing her mark. They’ve never shared their bonding story, their relationship very secretive, intimate, private. They’re always off, heads pressed together and whispering between one another about something, eyes flashing and observant.

A huffed laugh escapes me, their mystery is part of the reason falling in love with them was so easy. I just wanted to be enmeshed in that intimacy with them. Drawn into their gravitational pull and orbiting between their heavenly bodies. Locked between them and protected like their secrets.

And, finally, after years of pining, two years ago on New Year’s Eve, with liquid courage pumping through my veins, I had thrown myself at them. My cheeks flush with mortification just recalling the memory. But I tried, taking advice to be confident and assert myself. Natasha and Clint had been cuddled together on one of Tony’s couches as jazz music played through the room. Couples danced on the floor and couches were pushed around to make room for mingling. Strutting over to the couple, I stood in front of them as a smile tried to twitch at my lips. Their eyes drifted to me and I blurted, ‘I want to spend the new year with you’. Natasha’s hands had caressed my cheeks, a glimmer of affection in her eyes as she told me I was drunk—dismissing me, just like that.

I spent the countdown and remaining celebration of the dawning new year in the bathroom, crying myself hoarse and so hard I vomited, reeking of heartbreak and grief. 

“So, what happened at the doctor’s today?” Natasha asks from the door to the bathroom.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt _Christ_ , Nat!” I exclaim as my body jumps. My hip bangs into the counter and I clutch at it, rubbing away the sting of pain.

She stands before the door, arms crossed and solid as a mountain. My eyes glance away, pulling a paper towel to dry off my hands and wrists, dragging out the silence until I can come up with my excuse for tonight.

I sigh, tilting my head toward the ceiling and away from her. Because if I look anywhere near her, I will spill every secret I have ever known. “I don’t—”

“Try again,” she interrupts smoothly. Her heels click as she steps away from the door and I feel my temperature beginning to rise with each step she takes.

I turn to address her and find her far too close for comfort. My feet retreat until my spines aches from being pressed against the counter of the sink. But she pushes forward, pinning me in place.

Now, she’s about three inches shorter than me, but I will swear on every known holy book that she is the most daunting alpha I’ve ever met. She dominates the space around her without exerting any effort. Hell, my omega is begging me to drop to my knees and grovel at her feet—and that’s actually way too fucking tempting right now.

“You’ve been off all night,” she purrs, knowing she has me exactly where she wants me, unable to escape. “You can’t stop fidgeting, your hands keep trembling, your mind is somewhere else, and your scent is off.” Her hand grips the sink on either side of me, caging me as if I would have the strength—physical or mental—to push her away. “Tell me what is wrong.” She enunciates each word, a solid command in her tone.

Tears well in my eyes as my omega kicks forward, regret filling me up until I choke. My neck tilts to the side on instinct, completely baring my throat as I sniffle, “I’m touch deprived.” My eyes squeeze shut on the admission, begging for the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

A beat of silence passes as she processes my confession. My eyes peek open to gauge her reaction. The air shifts as her body changes, tension leaking away from her muscles.

“Oh, kotenok,” she croons, voice breathy and placating—and, oh my God, doesn’t that make me turn into absolute _mush_. “It’s okay. You should have told me sooner. We can take care of you.”

Her hands release the ledge of the sink, brushing over her jeans as she raises them to cup my cheeks. She tilts my face down, pressing her forehead to mine and breathes deeply. Her nose crinkles at my scent and I tug my face away, but she remains firm, not giving me an inch.

“How did we let you get to this point?” she murmurs, remorse lacing her words as her breath dances over my lips.

I gulp at the rhetorical question, unable to comprehend how I’m supposed to be responding to, well, any of this. But my face nuzzles into her hands, delighted by the touch. And I relish her scent of cinnamon apple and mahogany. It’s so sweet up close like this, I never realized. Just douse me in it and I can die happy.

The buzzing, itching pain of my skin dulls the longer she holds me pressed to the sink. The walls have stopped crawling and something like peace settles over me.

“Everything alright in here?” Steve’s voice echos from the doorway.

Natasha jerks away, leaving me dazed as she shields me with her body. Ready to strike out at the threat, her eyes stay firmly locked on our friend. Blinking away the haze from my own eyes, I turn to Steve, his gaze unreadable as he observes the two of us.

“Get out of here, Rogers,” Nat growls through gritted teeth. I swallow thickly, shifting on my feet as arousal pools in my belly—it’s completely unfair that her voice can do that to me.

Steve doesn’t budge from his position, hand holding the doorknob and ignoring the irritated alpha protecting me. His lips part on my name and I clear the last bits of fogginess that cling to the corners of my mind with a swift shake.

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyes vigilant as he watches my face for any reaction.

My own gaze drops to Natasha, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Steve’s challenging her, and her scent begins to swirl with defensiveness. My brow furrows as my lips purse.

I open my mouth to reply—because, obviously, the answer is yes, I’m actually quite incredible right now. But then I catch a glimpse of Bucky standing behind Steve in the doorway. And if those two were going for a subtle check-in, they missed the mark. My eyes roll at their stupidity—might as well raise a flag stating ‘we’re here to provoke you’.

Natasha’s hackles begin to rise even higher, a low growl rolling in her chest. I don’t need to see her face to see the snarl contorting her upper lip. Acting on instinct, my arms wrap around her, just under her bust, pressing my figure to her back. And holy hell, she’s so _warm_.

Steve’s posture changes minutely as he raises his hands in surrender, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.

“I’m fine, Steve,” I assure, just barely suppressing the urge to bury my nose in Natasha’s neck and scent her until I’m drunk.

My mouth begins to water before my eyes raise and lock onto Steve’s. A soft smile spreads on his lips as he nods with dawning realization and retreats from the restroom, drawing the door closed behind him with a muttered apology.

Natasha and I stay frozen for a moment after they’ve left us. My thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into her abdomen. She continues to glare at the door, as if it will suddenly burst open again if she even blinks. But then she turns on me, like the strike of a serpent, twisting in my hold and grabbing my chin with gentle fingers. Her gaze locks with mine, my eyes wide and stunned by the sudden move.

“We are getting out of here, right now. Because we are not having this conversation in the bathroom,” she instructs. And her tone holds no room for argument, so I nod in agreement. She smirks, satisfied. “You go back to the table, grab your coat, purse, and Clint while I pay your tab.”

My brow furrows, lips parting to object, “But—”

“No, buts, kotenok.” She leans up, her lips pressing to the corner of my mouth. “Now, be a good girl, and do as I say.”

I’m left speechless and unable to reply—the entire lexicon of the English language turning into alphabet soup. Her fingers interlace with mine as she leads me out of the bathroom, but I cannot even focus on that because Natasha Romanoff is _holding_ my _hand_. Butterflies erupt in my belly, like I’m some middle schooler with a teenage crush. But I can’t help myself. I’ve wanted this since high school, walking into third period freshman English with Mr. Jones. She was gorgeous, sitting in her seat and waiting for class to start, so nonchalant and just utterly cool. I stumbled over her backpack and she caught me like I weighed less than air, a killer smile and ‘be careful’ sealing my fate. So I can’t help but stare at her hand as it grasps mine, entirely entranced by the sight.

Her strong grip guides me through The Tower until she stops just a few feet from the table and turns toward the bar, one last squeeze pressed to my hand. My gaze follows her until she reaches the bar, leaning over it and grabbing Bobbi’s attention. Her eyes flit back to me and I snap back to the task at hand.

I take comfort in the feel of my coat as I grab it from the hanger by our booth—familiar when this night is turning out to be anything but. Scooting around the table to grab my purse sitting on my chair, my eyes drift to Clint, still lounging in his seat.

Reaching out, blush maddeningly hot on my cheeks, my fingers give a couple gentle tugs on the sleeve of his shirt. Warm blue eyes turn to me, glancing first at my grip on his clothes before looking up. 

“Um, Nat says it’s time to go,” I relay in a voice barely loud enough for anyone to hear. He’ll have to read my lips if his hearing aids don’t pick it up because I don’t think I can repeat myself any louder.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” He replies instantly. He smiles, jumping up and grabbing his coat. Just like that—like somehow this night is playing out exactly the same as it has for the years we’ve been doing this.

As I turn away from him, hands comb into my hair, brushing gently against the nape of my neck, sweeping the loose strands out of my collar and over my shoulder. Glancing over, Clint’s gaze remains tender as he loops his arm lightly around my waist and guides me toward the door. Natasha waits just beside it, regarding us with her keen eyes.

“Are you alright with the subway?” she asks as we approach. Her hand juts out, an invitation for me. One I readily accept as soon as I’m within reach—because yes, _please_.

“This late at night?” I ask in return, unease setting into my stomach. “Is that safe?” An omega alone on the subway this late at night was just asking for trouble. Most omegas have a general rule against it, for safety.

“You’re not alone,” Clint assures with his near psychic intuition, looping his other arm around my waist to hug me from behind. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

And I’m not gonna lie, my head nods on its own as my mind zeroes into focus on the pressure of his chest nestling against my back. The painful buzz just beneath my skin fades as a pleasant thrum of excitement breaks through my disbelief.

“Come on, kotenok,” Natasha coaxes as she steps out the door of the bar.

The night air smacks me in the face. Like a shot of clarity straight to my brain. I realize what’s happening, as if it hadn’t registered before. Natasha and Clint are _taking me home_. And I don’t know if that means something to them, but it means a hell of a lot to me.

My teeth bite back the question sitting on my tongue, willing to just see what they have in mind—and unwilling to break out of whatever dream I’m currently in.

Walking down the street, we remain quiet, enjoying the silent company as we watch people, much more drunk than us, stumble over stoops and out of clubs. Clint and Natasha remain stoic—pleasant, but unreadable expressions plastered on their faces.

At least with the silence cloaking our group, I can take the time to think this through. Sorting thoughts away and figuring out how I will handle whatever is to come.

*

Nat and Clint’s apartment is an interior designer’s wet dream. The industrial loft screams magazine-worthy and always takes my breath away. The open spaces, the high ceiling, somehow made to feel so cozy and enclosed, safe.

Clint takes my coat and purse, tucking them away. Natasha leads me into their space, still holding my hand, and settles me on their leather couch. Her eyes bore into me and then begin scanning around the room, her face scrunched in contemplation. Her forefinger taps on her lower lip as she turns, walks around the open space and searches for something.

Footsteps approach me from behind, soft but calloused hands rest on my shoulders—so light I barely even feel them. Though my muscles tense, I refuse to let myself unconsciously pull away this time. Notching my head on the back of the plush sofa, I look up at the beta, an expectant smile on my lips.

“You need anything, honey?” Clint inquires sweetly.

My lips split in a strained grin. Ever since I met him, way back in college, he’s always called me something, never my real name. And it often changes based on his mood—cutie, babe, darlin’, sweets, sugar, angel, hellspawn, kid, troublemaker. The list goes on and on. He’s quite genius, really, for thinking of so many different ones. But it always loops right back to ‘honey’, especially when we find ourselves in quiet moments like this.

I don’t think he knows what it does to me.

Hopefully.

I blush to even mention how it bothers me, in the best way. Because I know what I smell like. Wanda’s described my scent to me, since I’ve never caught a whiff of myself—parchment paper and spiced honey. So, in a way, the nickname is apt.

The fact of the matter is, people just don’t _do_ that. It would be like Bucky calling Steve ‘bean’, or Vis calling Wanda ‘cookie’. It’s intimate—far too intimate to expose out in public. Something you whisper in your mate’s ear in the most personal moments. But Clint, obviously, doesn’t care, finding ways to slip it into the conversation, and leaving me absolutely squirming.

And then there’s the flip side when he says it—the aftertaste so bitter it shrivels my tongue. He calls me ‘honey’ and, every time, my heart breaks just a little more. For a glorious second, I feel cherished, precious, claimed, but I’m not. It’s something I can’t have, and each time the pet name breezes over his lips, it’s like he’s dangling a carrot that I’ll never be able to reach.

The grin slips off my lips. “I’m fine, Clint, thank you,” I reply quietly.

His brow quirks as he looks down at me, looming from behind the couch. His thumb rubs along the back of my shoulder for a moment, calculations flickering just behind his eyes. His nose scrunches minutely as his head quirks to the side. Gliding his hands up my neck, he grasps my face in his palms.

Despite an initial wince on my part, Clint keeps his hands in place, tilting my head in one direction and then another. My instincts kick in, nuzzling into his touch as my eyelids flutter shut. He’s giving me exactly what I want—and at the thought, I jolt upright and wrench away from him.

Shallow breaths pant from my lungs, frightened, skin tingling like a live wire. My eyes dart over the back of the couch. He stands, a step back, eyes mournful and hands raised in surrender.

“Oh, honey,” he laments as he slowly lowers his hands, “It’s really got its hooks in you.”

His eyes move to his mate as she drags a short stool from their dining area. She sets it before me and perches on the edge. Her eyes flick to the space beside me, a silent instruction for her beta. He follows, jumping over the couch in a single swoop, landing next to me. My body folds slightly in on itself as I shy away. And instantly noting my obvious discomfort, he grabs one of the pillows, fluffing it quickly and stuffing it between us as I crowd into the corner and away from the both of them. Natasha watches us for a brief moment before speaking.

“How did you end up like this?” she asks finally.

My shoulders shrug as I avoid her eyes. I adjust my position, tucking my legs under my body and curling against the arm of the couch. My fingers pick at a loose thread on my skirt. Explaining my situation is not where I want this conversation to go. I’d rather avoid it and just get to the part where they explain what’s going to happen tonight.

“Have you been ignoring your instincts?” Nat keeps her observant eyes focused. She might not even be blinking. Clint mirrors his alpha, his body angled toward mine.

A weight presses on my chest as I sit between them. My head shakes, which is true. The omega instincts inside my head just refuse to accept physical affection and comfort from others while I remain unclaimed by ‘my’ alpha. And maybe my own feelings are interfering with the whole thing, making it seem so unpalatable for me to cuddle up to someone else. Either way makes no difference, since I’m here now and faced with this dilemma.

Because the longer I sit with them, the clearer this situation becomes—at least, to me. They’re acting on instinct—naturally, I’m an omega in distress, they’re helping. That’s all this is. Not what I’ve yearned for over the years, just a pack taking in the sick and weak.

Natasha hums, head cocking to the side and eyes narrowing.

I back bite a whine as my omega cries out for the alpha—the one I’ve selfishly claimed for myself, in thought alone. There’s grief in the sound, and I don’t want them to hear. I will take whatever crumb they choose to bestow upon me and not complain. It’s better than nothing.

“Uh,” I begin, shifting in my seat again. I pull my hair over my shoulder, playing with a strand. Without their touch, a painful static starts traveling through my limbs, but I shove it aside, trying to focus on something else. “W-what ended up happening with that alpha at the bar?” I ask, grappling for a change of subject. My eyes flick toward Clint’s knee, resting on the couch, drifting up his body until I draw enough courage to look into his eyes.

“I threw him out of the bar and said if I ever saw his face again, he’d wind up missing some of his favorite appendages,” Clint responds seriously, no hint of teasing or levity anywhere on his face.

My head bobs as I swallow thickly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” he says, shaking his head. His brow furrows in pain and concern washes over me.

“Why do you think he did it?” Natasha asks, her arms crossed over her chest, interrupting anything I was going to say next.

My eyes flash over to her as I respond, “I-I don’t know.” My mouth dries as I scramble through my mind for an answer to her question. “I’m an unclaimed omega. It’s instinct to protect me when I’m vulnerable.”

“You’re not unclaimed,” Natasha corrects, cryptically, “just unbonded.”

My jaw drops, balking at the statement. Sounds stutter out of me, searching for the ones that will fit together to form words.

“What?”

“You heard me,” she rebuts without batting an eye.

“How can I be claimed without knowing it?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair, over my scalp and tugging lightly. My eyes drop to the floor as I attempt to interpret what Nat is saying. Because it makes no sense. Pain stabs at my internal organs and I close my eyes for just one second—just one second to compose myself.

Natasha stands from her stool, looming over me, not threatening, but certainly serious. Somehow this conversation has taken some kind of turn that I can’t fathom. She closes the minimal distance between her seat and mine. Her hand lands on the back of the couch, just beside my head and she stops.

Glancing between her hand and her face, I gulp. Like a deer caught in headlights, I’m frozen as she examines me, dissects every microexpression on my face, and comes to some conclusion which leads to her resting her knees on the couch on either side of me and straddling my lap. The pain instantly dulls to a shallow throb, like turning a dial to lower the volume. Yet the pounding of my heart thunders through my ears.

My hands move away from my front and shove into the cushion at my side. Because there is no way in hell I can trust myself not to drag her body closer to mine in this position, run my fingers over every luscious inch of her.

“Steve wasn’t the only one running off unworthy alphas that came sniffing your way,” she says with a shrug as her body lowers until she rests on top of me. “I’ve wanted you ever since I met you. We hadn’t even presented yet, but you were so cute and flustered and smart—I knew it was you for me.”

A scoff bursts past my lips. I was in no way cute. I’ll take flustered and smart, sure, but cute was just inaccurate. Her fingers grip my chin to focus my attention back.

“Oh yes,” she purrs with a smile. “Adorable. And so stubborn.”

“But you dated Maria and then that other guy, Leo,” I recall, thinking back to the days when I would watch her pressing up against whoever caught her fancy.

“Steve didn’t want me getting too close,” she says, shifting closer. “I realize I hurt you, doing that, and I’m so sorry.” Her hands cup my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “I stopped as soon as you presented.”

“You were never interested in an omega, though,” I insist, mind flying through the timeline of our friendship and trying to understand it with her viewpoint. “So how can you say that you’ve been wanting me for so long? You never said anything. I threw myself at you during that New Year’s party a couple years ago and you—” I break off, hitching over the words as the heartbreak returns. “You pushed me away.” My head shakes, breaking free of her hold and cramming my body back into the cushions. My gaze falls to the side, dejection creeping over my heart.

“It’s always been about you,” she persists, desperation leaking into her tone. “Once you presented, I knew I had to get my shit together. Make sure I could take care of you in every way. I’d never gotten to a point where I thought I could.” I still can’t look at her, biting my lip and fighting away tears. “Clint.” Her eyes turn to her silent beta. A moment passes between them before Clint speaks.

He clears his throat and scoots closer, leg pressing against Natasha’s thigh. “I met you on the lawn in front of the university library,” he begins. “I just saw you reading, walked over, and introduced myself. And you were so sweet, you immediately put away your book to give me your full attention. Natasha came, later, to meet up with you.” His hand reaches out, plucking mine from my side and cradling it. “Do you remember how that felt? Sitting together on your blanket in the shade of that huge tree? Because I do. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as complete since that afternoon.”

I look over, and his gaze stays on my hand, face narrowed as he stares. His thumbs rub over my knuckles, a soothing gesture before he raises his hand and presses a kiss to each one.

“Natasha’s telling the truth,” he states seriously. “She picked me because the connection was instantaneous between us, because we were both dead set on you.” My lips part, an objection at the ready, but his eyes glance up, halting me with their intensity. “No one knows me better than the two of you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. But we had to get ourselves together, build up our lives until we could give you everything you deserve.”

My teeth bite my lower lip, holding back the resentment coursing through me. It bubbles up inside me like lava and burns at the back of my tongue. They had to get themselves together. A bitter laugh bursts past my lips.

“That’s rich,” I grumble, words tumbling from me like dripping venom, no thought of holding them back. “You say this as though you’ve _legitimately_ staked your claim, courted me, let me know that somehow I’m a part of all this.” My hand rips out of Clint’s hold and gestures between the alpha and beta. “But you rejected me when I tried to get closer and left me _alone_.” My voice cracks over the words, and I trap a cry of frustration in my throat.

Their faces fall as I talk, exchanging a glance, brows tilted with regret. But something inside, insidious and bleak, sits beyond caring. The devastated part, scorched and beyond hope. The part I’ve been keeping at bay for so long.

“I’m touch deprived, now,” I continue, slumping as the weight of it presses down, agony stabbing me through my heart, “so you step in to help me tonight. Thank you. In the morning, I’ll head over to the heat clinic to set up an appointment. Get my treatment there.”

“How did you come to be touch deprived?” Natasha asks again, a protective growl to her words but concern shining through her eyes. She speaks quickly, boldly, but a tinge of fear in her words. “Do you hate your nature, your needs?”

“No, of course not,” I reply, adamantly. My head shakes as my hackles rise at the insinuation.

“Then your omega won’t accept affection from anyone but your desired alpha,” she retorts, all confidence and superiority. “Tell me it’s me.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” I insist with a bite, a glare contorting my features as my gaze snaps to her. Fire blazes in my eyes, fueled by self-loathing—and having absolutely nothing to do with her.

“It changes everything.” Her hands weave into my hair, delicate as her tone mellows. She’s backing down from my challenge, my disrespect. Letting it slide to make her own point.

I cling to my anger even as confusion peeks through. “No, it doesn’t.” I shake my head away from her, breathing hard and vertigo dizzying my view.

She latches onto my face, cheeks cradled between her soft palms. “Stubborn omega,” she whispers. Her lithe frame curves forward.

And she kisses me.

Natasha Romanoff kisses me.

Languid, sensual, almost instructional—because _of course_ she knows this is my first kiss. My mind blue-screens, blank and nonoperational. Eyes flutter closed as Natasha’s lips caress over mine. After an eternity or millisecond spent kissing me, she withdraws, fingers stroking over my cheeks as she does.

“There we go, there’s the omega I love,” she coos with a teasing smile.

Objections silenced and docile in her grip, my eyes shine up at her, waiting for whatever happens next. My hands, trembling and hesitant, reach to rest on her hips. A pleased rumble echoes in her throat as she leans close, brushing her lips over my forehead, my cheeks, my jaw.

“You’re not going anywhere else for help, are you?” she asks sweetly. My head shakes in response to her question, quickly, not even needing a second to deliberate. She beams triumphantly. “That’s right. Because no one else can take care of you like we can. We know about touch deprivation, and we know you. And Clint and I are going to make everything all better.”

_When an omega in your condition turns to one specific alpha or beta, there is a higher likelihood that the bonding process will automatically engage as you recover, especially if the relationship is already a close one._

My doctor’s words echo through my brain as I ask, “You don’t mind bonding with me?”

An exasperated groan rumbles beside me. I look to find Clint, an expression of vexation evident on his features.

“It’s the only thing we’ve wanted for a long time, honey,” he states, almost gruffly. “I told you, we were taking too long.” He turns his attention addressing his mate, matter-of-factly. “Should have done this in college. Now she’s doubting our veracity.”

Stunned by his insolent statement, my eyes move to Natasha to gauge her reaction. Ready to see irritation on her features, but finding nothing but a sheepish apology there.

“You’re right,” she admits, a frown sitting on her lips as she watches his face, deliberating. “But better late than never.”

Her lips tilt in a quick smirk. Her hand shoots out, grasping at the front of her beta’s shirt and tugging him close, to devour his lips with hers. A whimper vibrates through Clint’s throat as he grasps for any piece of Natasha he can reach, his fingers entwining with mine on her waist.

Watching them clash together is a sight to behold, like seeing aurora borealis painting the night sky. Enthralling, breathtaking. I gulp, liquid heat dripping down my spine and pooling at my core. Part of me wants to look away, leave them the privacy of their intimate moment, but another—much, _much_ larger—part stays enraptured by the sight. My mind whirs, saturated by the sounds they make as they keep kissing. Their scents swirl together, heady and passionate, wrapping around me and dragging me toward a hazy abyss. A muffled moan works its way across my compressed lips as I watch them.

This isn’t a new mindset. I have spent many nights alone, imagining the two of them and how it would feel to be this close, this involved. And let’s just say I’ve considered confession and prayer for the sinful thoughts they have inspired over the years. But I am in no way repentant. I’d rather suffer in my own hell—and right now, I’m completely damned.

Clint pulls away from his mate, a stupefied smile spreading his lips. His gaze locks with mine and he swoops forward. He captures my lips with his, licking into my mouth and tasting the lust sitting on my tongue, swallowing the whines in my throat. I try to keep up, inexperienced as I am, but the sloppy, bruising kiss makes experience inconsequential—more about teeth and tongue and pressure than finesse. It’s filthy, and _fantastic_.

Natasha mutters something sultry in Clint’s ear, the Russian syllables trickling over her tongue—and I’ll admit to the shiver it sends rocketing down my spine. The kiss slows. Clint drawing away his tongue and becoming more chaste. Before leaving me with a small peck on my lips.

A pout sits heavy upon them as I look to him and Natasha, waiting for an explanation why they’re stopping, pulling back.

“We don’t want to break you, kotenok,” she murmurs, leaning forward to press our lips together. Her tongue plunges into my mouth and wraps with mine.

I whimper, pulling away and feeling somehow empty the moment we part, as I beg, “Break me, claim me, mark me, please.” My eyes plead with them as I look to the alpha and beta. “I’ve been waiting so long.”

Clint shifts, muscles tense as he waits for Natasha’s command. A coy smile stretches across the her lips as she presses closer to me, the heat between her thighs flush to my lap.

“Are you sure?” she asks, all tease and false pity as I move beneath her, trying to press closer. “You seemed pretty adamant earlier.”

A growl of frustration rolls in my throat at her condescending tone. I lean toward her, intent on proving my commitment through a kiss, but she evades me. How she does it while still maintaining her balance and composure on my lap, I’ll never know. But her thighs clench around mine in a mild admonishment. My growl breaks off as I stare into her eyes, brow tilting in apology.

Pulling a deep breath into my lungs, I whisper, “I’ve only ever wanted the two of you.”

Natasha stares, searching for truth in my eyes before standing. She reaches for me, pulling me into her arms as I follow her. She presses kisses to my neck, scenting me deeply, a relieved giggle spilling from her lips. Russian words accompany her laughter as she drags me toward the stairs of their loft. Praises from what I can tell—taking cues from how she touches me and emphasizes certain words. Saints alive, I’m gonna have to learn Russian—and probably brush up on ASL.

“Ah, Nat, no. I was just getting comfortable,” Clint whines, pushing himself to his feet with a huff.

My eyes gleam as I scurry back to him and grab his hands, dragging him behind me and folding our fingers together. Excitement dances in my veins and his hand pulses around mine. His eyes sparkle with amusement as I bounce back to his alpha and present him to her.

“Such a good girl,” Natasha praises, and I _preen_. Clint muffles a chuckle in his hand and reaches forward, pinching my rear and causing me to jump.

“Kiss ass,” he chides playfully. He stomps up the stairs to the loft, glancing over his shoulder with a heated gaze. “You two coming?”

My teeth worry over my bottom lip as I turn to Natasha. Her gaze scorches over my body as she takes in every inch of me, as if caressing me with needy fingers. She starts climbing the stairs, beckoning me after her and I have no choice but to follow, completely in her thrall.

Standing at the top step, I pause, hesitancy halting my movement as Natasha continues toward their massive bed. Clint sits at the foot, legs spread wide and elbows resting on his knees. He’s like a wild cat, tense and ready to pounce as we locks eyes.

I shuffle from foot to foot, trying to swallow my nerves as they bubble up my throat like bile. My hands knead together, massaging muscles and tendons in an attempt at self-soothing.

When Natasha’s gaze drifts back to me, a question lights her features. My lips part to explain, to reveal my trepidation for what it is, but anxiety gets the best of me and I can’t find the right words. Sexual intimacy with others is not something I’ve ever experienced, probably because the two people standing before me are the only people I have ever met that have made me contemplate the merits of it. Of course, Nat knows—she knows everything. Clint can probably guess. But it’s something I have to say out loud.

“I’ve never done this before,” I state, voice shaking and slightly breathy. “With anyone.” My hand rests on my forehead, rubbing away my stress as I begin to ramble. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to be patient with me. I mean, I’ve seen porn, but it’s not like that stuff is legitimate sexual education, and you know how shit that was in high school, especially for omegas.”

Natasha stays in her place, standing before her beta’s lap, face understanding as I lay my insecurities before them.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she assures with a compassionate smile. “We’ll take care of you.”

I nod, shifting my gaze toward Clint, still sitting on the bed, but more relaxed in his posture than before—not quite so ready to pounce, but still tense with excitement and anticipation.

“Come here, honey,” he beckons, crooking a finger in my direction. And I follow, letting my hesitation remain on that last step as I enter into this new world with them.

Clint’s hands rest delicately on my waist as I stop before him, Natasha to my side with a watchful eye. His thumbs trace soothing circles over my clothes as he looks up at me. And that look in his eyes, all soft adoration and awe—nothing like the usual hardness or distance that he wears like a mask. His mouth tilts with a slow grin, spreading like molasses, the longer he looks at me. I don’t even need to hear those three words spoken to understand—this, right now, is him expressing his love for me. I can read it as if he wrote it for me in big, bold, block letters.

Taking a note from Natasha’s playbook, I breathe deeply and trust my instincts, straddling the beta’s lap and resting my arms over his shoulders. Lowering myself on him, heat creeps up my chest toward my cheeks. A faint fuzz overtakes my brain as I struggle to grasp what I’m doing. But I press onward, giving into desire and brush my lips against his.

Waiting for a reaction is like waiting for the guillotine blade to drop. My first expectation is rejection, that he’ll push me away. What I get is the opposite. His fingers tighten on my waist, pulling my hips flush with his and his mouth molding eagerly to mine.

Unlike the messy, devouring kiss from downstairs, this one is slow, voluptuous, but just as intoxicating.

“We don’t need to go any further tonight, kotenok,” Natasha intones, her hands caressing my shoulders as she steps around Clint’s knees. “Touch deprivation is best treated with skin-on-skin contact, but does not require sex.” She presses a kiss on my scent gland, inhaling deeply as her lithe fingers begin unbuttoning my blouse.

I whine, high and needy, in my throat as Clint’s hands undo the belt around my waist. Mumbling, “I want it,” into his lips, my eyes trying to catch sight of the alpha.

“Then we’ll give you everything you want,” Natasha promises with a light nip to my pulse point.

I gasp into Clint’s mouth, breaking away to gather my thoughts as they threaten to drift away. Burying my face in his neck, I give into my subdued flight instinct—hiding from the two of them for just a moment. The intensity of the situation rests heavy on my shoulders, but his scent of rosin and cedar washes over me like a comfort blanket, instantly calming me.

Natasha’s hands bid me stand as she pulls off my skirt and fingers the material of my panties. “Are you ready?”

With a jerky nod, I consent and she lowers the fabric to my ankles before unhooking my bra. Never in my life have I felt more vulnerable. Standing nude before Natasha and Clint pushes me to my limits, and I’m left dangling over the edge for just a moment.

And then I catch Clint’s eye.

His pupils blown wide, swallowing up the blue in his irises and consumed by shadows of longing. A shiver travels down my spine, nipples pebbling almost painfully, as Natasha’s form wraps over me, pressing her heat to my back.

The beta stands, eyes tracking every movement, leaving plenty of room for Natasha to situate me on the bed, propped against their pillows. My back rests against their headboard, legs curled toward my body. And I become the audience to the most graceful dance I have ever seen.

Their lips meld together in a pas de deux, pushing and pulling against each other in harmony, laced with enthusiasm and a heady rush of desire. Their hands roam over clothes before carefully plucking at each layer. Pushing jeans down their legs and discarding shirts over their heads, barely surfacing for breath as they do. And I watch, completely enraptured. Squeezing my thighs together in an attempt to quell my arousal, I feel the pooling heat begin to drip from my core, the slick excitement I’m sure they can smell.

Natasha’s hand snakes into Clint’s hair, tilting his head to the side as she nibbles at his neck, until the scar of her mark is shiny and wet. She whispers into his ear, a purr of instruction, before turning to me.

She stalks up the bed, and my breath stutters. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more sexy— _ever_. Her hands slide up my legs, tickling over my ankles, over my calves, until they reach my thighs and press them outward.

“Open up for me, kotenok,” she coaxes as my legs reluctantly spread. She slots herself between them easily, fitting into place like puzzle pieces locking together.

Lips trace over my body, pecking mine before descending down my neck with sucks and licks that tease the corners of my brain toward a pleasurable cloud. I watch each press of her lips to my skin, entranced by the care she takes with each placement. And she keeps working down my chest, stopping at my nipples, suckling with her plush lips until I keen and whine and wiggle beneath her. Her fingers trace around them, the buds peaking with the attention.

But she continues downward, across my stomach, a kiss pressed to my hip where I bumped it earlier this evening, and further until she reaches the apex of my thighs. Her eyes flash as she lowers her head toward my center.

Heart beating out of my chest, I gulp. Of course I know what she’s doing, I’m not an idiot, but—

My mind blanks as her tongue swipes up my folds, licking away the excess slick clinging to them. A grunt chokes in my throat as she does it again and reaches with her fingers to part my lower lips.

Her tongue moves with dexterity and precision, lapping at my clit with kitten licks before swiping at my entrance. She moans into me, the vibrations sparking pleasure as my hips involuntarily buck against her face. But I can’t think to apologize as she keeps on in her attentions. She sucks, in the most divine way.

My body tightens with each delicious lick, the urge to stretch almost cramped muscles pulling at my limbs as I twitch beneath her talented tongue. She shoots me a smirk, just peeking over my mound as she does. I moan at the sight of her shiny lips and dark gaze.

And then her fingers decide to join the fray, pressing into me and stretching my walls. My teeth bite my cheek she begins thrusting, stunned by the new feeling. My mind scrambles to take everything in and my lips feel too dry as my tongue darts over them. Her eyes catch the sight and she rises, pressing one last kiss to my clit. I watch her, breathing heavily as my body pulls tighter.

She approaches slowly, keeping the rhythm of her fingers steady as she takes a moment to slip in another, spreading me further and stroking against my front wall. The heel of her hand brushes against my clit, the occasional pressure scooting me closer toward the edge and the ecstasy waiting.

“I want to see you cum,” Natasha rasps, lusty and desperate. “Let me see you fall apart on my fingers.” I nod, a jarring movement as I try to keep some part of myself steady in this sea of sensation.

She loops her leg over mine, pressing herself against my thigh and grinding down. And, oh God, she’s so wet. My eyes flutter shut as I feel her thrust against me and I sigh. Her tongue takes the opportunity to lick through my mouth, the taste of my own essence still heavy. But the next second, she’s gone, her lips stolen from mine.

Opening my eyes with a cry, I find Clint, straddling my leg behind Natasha and devouring her mouth. His tongue licks over her chin, cleaning my arousal from her face and any traces left on her lips. And, sweet Jesus, the noises he’s making. My heat clenches around the fingers Natasha continues to plunge in me, aching for more. To hear him sing with his own pleasure—that would be the death of me.

Natasha’s pussy continues to grind on my thigh as it tenses beneath her and she chuckles, a breathy huff of laughter as she breaks away from her beta. Her eyes land on me, a glint of mischievous intent. She coos as her free hand reaches up, sliding her middle and ring fingers between my lips. My tongue caresses over her knuckles, prodding her fingers apart and sucking them together in a blatant display for her to enjoy, messy and wet.

Sitting up straighter, I continue nibbling and laving around her fingers, my omega deeply content and soothed by the action, a pleased purr rumbling in my chest. My own hand reaches out, tentative, but focused on the pink flesh nestled against me, wanting to feel and touch her in the way she’s touching me. Wanting to draw those breathy, trilling sounds from her until she collapses, spent against the bed.

Clint’s eyes lock with mine over her shoulder as he smirks—and don’t I just _melt_. His hands snake around his alpha, kneading her breasts in his hands, tweaking her nipples and drawing her once more into his kiss. Her hand drops away from my mouth, limp, as the two of us somehow come to the same conclusion—our alpha needs to cum. The bliss on Natasha’s face is otherworldly—I whimper at the sight. My fingers swirl through her slick, picking up the traces left on my thigh. I suck them into my mouth, purring at the taste—syrupy, tangy, and dripping in her scent—the nectar of the gods would not be as sweet.

Despite her attention split between both of our hungry attacks, she doesn’t stop between my thighs, intent on her mission to make me cum. And she’s not terribly far off from her goal. My hips buck beneath her, pressing closer as she ruts against me.

Her hips stutter and her breath hitches, a sign she might be drawing closer toward her release. My teeth gnaw on my lower lip as I watch, fingers skating just over her clit as they sneak between her core and my leg. Her moan whines out of her.

My inner walls flutter around her fingers, but I feel myself stall toward climax—just not enough to snap the tension, toss me over the edge. Tilting my head, my eyes find her unmarked scent gland. Mouth watering, I lean in for it, drag her deep into my lungs until my head feels light and cloudy. My tongue pushes against the gland, sucking on the sensitive skin. My teeth scrape just the slightest bit.

And I can’t help myself. I bite.

Breaking through her skin, her blood drips over my tongue as I leave my mark. And the world explodes for just a moment as my orgasm washes over me. I cry, muffled by her neck and drowned out by my alpha’s pleasure.

Natasha’s guttural cry echoes through the room as her hips jerk. She comes on my thigh, soaking me with her release. Her movements slow, then stop. Her eyes squeeze shut, hands tangling in my hair as she holds me in place. Our chests heave with panting breaths.

Time ticks by as we descend from our euphoria. Breaths slow, endorphins soak in. Her hands pet over my hair, pushing sweaty strands away from my forehead. Gazing into her deep green eyes, I snap out of my lusty stupor, realizing what I’ve done.

“Oh, my God,” I shriek, pushing her away—to no avail, if you must know. My hand covers my mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry, Natasha. I didn’t mean to mark you. You just smelled so good, and my teeth were aching. It just happened and I—”

Natasha cuts me off with a harsh kiss. Her tongue mingling with mine, tasting traces of her blood. Her head shakes against me, a denial of my outburst.

“Such a good omega-mine, claiming me as your own,” she moans into my lips, lifting herself from my thigh to tower over me on the bed.

She pushes me back toward the pillows, pulling my body down until I lay completely on my back. Her mouth and hands burn over my body as she clutches, squeezes, kisses, marks the parts of me she can reach. She casts a glance toward her mate and I follow the path of her gaze.

Clint’s backed toward the foot of the bed, giving us our space, but sits hard and leaking as his hand strokes lazily over his member. The head is flushed red and drips with his precum. My tongue licks over my lips, his scent assaulting my nose and stoking pangs of hungry desire.

“I wanna taste,” I declare, looking for approval from Natasha.

She regards me for a moment, presses a kiss to my sternum and one to my mouth before draping her form over my side.

“Not tonight, kotenok,” she replies. “Though I’m sure Clint would love that, I think he’s got something else in mind.” Her fingers dip between my folds, swirling around in the mess of arousal there. “Would you like that?”

I nod as my heartbeat picks up its pace—nerves and eagerness clashing once more inside me. And Clint sees it in my eyes as I look to him. He smiles, that dorky dumbass grin that melts my heart every goddamn time, and I feel safe.

His hands skim up my legs, pressing between them as he takes in my figure—looking at me like he’s studying a sculpture in a museum. I shift, wriggling away from his inspection. But his steady, strong hands keep me firmly in place.

“I got you, honey,” he whispers, parting my thighs around his hips and reaching down to grasp his length once more.

He swipes his thumb over his slit, a drop of precum sticking, which he pushes to my lips. My tongue wraps around his digit with a hum. My pupils blow wide at the taste of him on my tongue, musky and earthy and delicious.

“Just focus on that,” he instructs with a strained smile as his cock presses at my entrance.

I nod, trepidation blossoming in my mind. The pressure increases little by little until he pops into me. A small chirp sounds in my throat at the sensation and my muscles tense. Natasha shushes me, her hand drifting down my body to play with my clit as Clint’s thumb presses on my tongue. His hips begin to rock, plunging deeper inside me at a slow pace as I breathe deeply and relax around him.

My mind begins to drift on a cloud of hazy bliss, loving this attention and care—the way they handle me, so soft, so in sync, and absolutely perfect. My thighs begin to tremble as Clint presses his hips flush to mine, the hair at the base of his cock tickling over Natasha’s fingers.

The whole room stills for a moment, just the sound of our breath breaking through the silence. My face buries into Nat’s neck as she rests against my side. Her fingers pinch my little bundle of nerves, my hips jerk and Clint’s do the same in response. The tug of his cock on my walls pulls a moan out of my lips as he drags over a sweet little spot inside me.

Clint’s hand slides from my mouth, trailing a line of saliva down my throat, and lands on my sternum, pressed just above my breasts. His eyes meet mine as he descends toward my lips. He kisses me deep and begins thrusting his hips. I moan into his mouth at each movement, and he swallows them all down. My arms wrap around his shoulders, nails scratching lightly over his back. Natasha’s lips take up residence on my neck, sucking bruises along the column of my throat as she begins muttering utterly delectable filth into my ear.

“Such a pretty omega for us. All ours.” Her hand sneaks over my chest, avoiding Clint and groping at my breasts with sticky fingers. “Are you gonna bite him when you cum again? You gonna let _us_ bite _you_?”

I nod in response to her questions, barely having the wherewithal to answer, even if my lips weren’t completely commandeered by her beta. Wrapping my leg around his waist, I try to gain some leverage to yank him closer. Conceding, Clint drops his weight more on top of me, curling his hips over mine and holding himself up with one of his forearms. My hand drops to explore his chest, feeling his muscles and the sweat slicking them.

“If you bite him, he’s going to knot you,” Nat’s voice warns in my ear. “It’s intense, kotenok. If you don’t want it, you have to tell us now.”

My mind spins at this new information. But makes its decision easily. “I want it,” I say, pressing each word to the beta’s lips. He nods his acknowledgement, not even separating from our kiss to do so.

That tightness begins to coil in my belly once more, my climax building as Clint continues to push into me, knocking against that amazing place inside and grinding until my breath hitches. I flutter and clench around him, moaning and mewling into his waiting mouth. He responds with grunts and growls, throaty and toe-curling.

And he keeps his hand on my chest.

“Do you like his hold on you, kotenok?” she asks, licking the shell of my ear and nibbling the lobe. I nod, a barely audible ‘mmhm’. She chuckles softly, explaining, “He doesn’t like to just hear your moans, he likes to _feel_ them.”

My lips break away from his, gazing into his eyes. His forehead presses to mine as his breaths pant over my lips. He lowers his head, sucking his own marks on my pulse point and lowering toward my scent gland. Nat does the same.

My pulse jumps beneath my skin as I realize they’re both preparing to mark me. My eyes flicker to the sight of Clint’s unmarked scent gland, ready for the taking. And I give in to the urge to bury my teeth in him, his scent surrounding me and his blood dribbling over my tongue.

At the same moment, the tight coil of my orgasm snaps as Natasha and Clint sink in their teeth. My vision whites out for a second as my muscles tense and release, waves of pleasure crashing through me. Warmth paints my inner walls as Clint cums. A hard, hot pressure expands at the base of his cock—his knot, oh dear Mary, mother of God—locking us together.

My eyes snap open, shock washing over me as I take stock of what exactly has transpired. My breaths pant out of my lungs as Clint sinks further on top of me, crushing my form to the bed. Natasha licks over her bite, taking care of it and cleaning it before my blood drips on the sheets. Clint does the same.

I bite back hysterical laughter as it threatens to bark through my lips. On the verge of feeling too much, my eyes lift toward their ceiling, searching for one ounce of reality. Because, seriously, what the fuck just happened—it can’t be real.

My name breaks the silence, a pair of concerned eyes gazing at me. I can’t stand to look at them, too scared they’ll disappear like a mirage in a desert.

Rough, calloused fingers tilt my head to the side, so they can both ascertain my headspace. They bundle me in their arms, cuddling close and hushing my worries without making me talk. They clean me up when Clint’s knot deflates a few minutes later, whilst maintaining their close hold, one of them comforting me the whole time.

Sandwiched between them, their limbs tangling over my own, we all begin to drift to sleep. And I blink back tears at the realization—the hope—that, maybe, this isn’t a dream.

*

Morning comes with a groggy ache that tenses all my muscles. Beginning to stretch, I feel the pressure sitting on my bladder and realize why I’ve woken up so early. I have to pee.

Which turns out to be a more difficult task than I anticipate. Cracking my eyes open in the soft morning light, I see the two figures draping over me, clutching me tight. Natasha’s bright red hair falls across my chin, her face tucked into the crook of my neck and breath puffing over my tender scent gland. Clint has his leg hooked over mine, thigh wedged firmly between my own. His arm wraps around my waist and holds me close to his chest.

Mind racing for how to disentangle myself from them, my hips wiggle slowly to allow them their continued slumber as I attempt escape. A few minutes pass with vaguely thought out maneuvers and bubbling dread at each twitch they give in response.

Finally, I fidget my way to the foot of the bed and stand, almost proud of my accomplishment. Scurrying over toward one of the two doors in the loft, picking up the pieces of my discarded underwear as I go—because there is no way in hell I’m just walking around in the nude—I crack one open and peek inside, hoping for a bathroom. Instead, I’m greeted by a sight I’m not expecting.

It’s a walk-in closet, but more. One side hangs dresses and suits and other clothes. Like anyone would expect from a closet. But across it, pushed against the back corner, sits the beginnings of a nest next to a wall painted my favorite color. I stare at it far longer than I should before closing the door as quietly as I can and peeking over at the two on the bed—my mates, they’re _actually_ my mates. A small smile spreads across my lips as I open the next door and find the bathroom.

Taking care of my morning hygiene as best and as noiselessly as I can, my stomach begins to rumble. I creep back out of the bathroom and across the loft to descend the stairs and search out some food.

Their open plan kitchen displays their various cooking accoutrements, including a very ratty looking percolator. Only Clint. My fingers stroke over the appliance as I journey toward their pantry. Propping open one of the doors with my hip, I grab out a container of cashews, practically begging to be eaten.

I hold it in my arm, snacking on the salty seeds—I know, Google blew my mind with that information, too—I peruse the other various offerings on the shelves before me.

As I turn to move my search to their refrigerator, Natasha wraps her arms around my waist. I jump with surprise, but smile as I twist the lid back on the cashew container. Her expression is sleepy and grumpy—absolutely the most adorable thing. I smile, rubbing my nose against hers like a kiss as she glowers up at me.

“You disappeared,” she grumbles, arms tightening slightly and words broken by a small yawn.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble with a faux pout.

She rolls her eyes, dragging me back toward the stairs and up to the bed in the loft. Clint leans on his elbow, adjusting his hearing aid in his ear and grabbing the other sitting on the bedside table.

“Good,” he grumbles, relaxing back, “You got her.”

I stifle my chuckle as Natasha throws me back on the bed and climbs over my form. She drops atop me, nuzzling between my breasts and getting comfortable. Clint wraps around me like an octopus, pressing a kiss to the juncture of my neck and Nat’s mark.

“Don’t make us tie you up,” he threatens sleepily, “You’re not going anywhere.”

I watch as the two relax and encompass me in their heat, snuggling as close as they can. My fingers drift through Clint’s hair and over Natasha’s back.

“I love you both,” I proclaim to the quiet room, finally admitting it out loud.

“Of course, my love, it’s the three of us, forever,” Natasha replies easily, the words breezing over my skin and settling in like a universal truth. Clint hums in agreement, shifting to draw the blanket over our shoulders and nudging his body closer to mine. I melt between them, closing my eyes and sighing in relief.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I know it’s really long for a one shot, but I didn’t want to break it apart.
> 
> If you enjoyed it, leave a kudos and maybe a comment! I would really love to hear your feedback!
> 
> Also, if you want, you can come say ‘hi’ on my [Tumblr!](http://foxgloveprincess.tumblr.com/)
> 
> 💜


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